who would prevent Raymond—or anyone else—from gaining control of my life.
“The trap was never meant for me,” I said.
“No,” Walter replied. “It was meant for Raymond.”
I pressed Thomas’s letter against my chest.
For more than fifty years, I had avoided saying his name.
Now it was the only name I wanted to speak.
Three days later, Raymond arrived at my apartment and pounded angrily on the door.
He carried a folder filled with threats, accusations, and promises to challenge everything Thomas had arranged.
Walter happened to be
